To Save the World
by Echo Frosts
Summary: Emiya Shirou wanted to be a hero. He had walked far to do it: fighting in a Holy Grail War; defeating his own self, inside and out, over his ideals; destroying a corrupted Grail; saving Fuyuki. But he did not truly destroy 'all evils of the world', and he is soon told that he should rejoice; for his wish will certainly be granted. If not in this world, then in another...
1. Prologue

Emiya Shirou wanted to be a hero.

He had walked a long path to get to his current point: confronting himself, both inside and out, on the futility and fakeness of his own ideals; dueling Gilgamesh, King of Heroes; destroying the corrupted Holy Grail—

And yet he found himself, in the dead of night, only a matter of weeks after Saber disappeared, walking the long lonely way to the Church on the Hill.

The canopy of the stars stretched out above him, as a gentle breeze swept through his hair and tugged at the ends of his jacket. He drew in a deep breath, the earthy scents of the forest filling him.

Peace.

He walked slowly, without any deep urgency or need or mission; he had only a question, and he expected he'd find no answer. He hadn't before; and Archer, who walked the same path he did, never found one either. He ended his journey on a hill of swords with no answers; no solutions.

It was the question of his ideal.

In one sense, it didn't matter. He had made his choice; the fight with Archer still rang fresh in his mind, the taste of blood and steel on his lips. He would walk this path with no regrets; that is who Emiya Shirou wanted to become. Someone who saves everyone. Even if it's impossible, and even if it's someone else's dream.

It can't be wrong to save people.

But that doesn't answer a deeper question, which continued to plague him.

Why is it beautiful?

Shirou had no motivation for it himself; it was inherited from Kiritsugu; or, perhaps more accurately said, it was _admired_ in Kiritsugu. The joy he had on saving Shirou; the sense of purpose and total devotion; the way he threw himself into the flames and dug a dying boy out…

It was beautiful. What he did and living a life devoted to that—to radically abandon everything else to save everyone: such a life is unheard of.

But wouldn't it be beautiful?

He knew it was. He just didn't know why; and even if he did know why, it didn't seem to apply to him.

Emiya Shirou only knew one thing: saving people wasn't wrong. Even if he didn't have the right motivations, or the right foundation, or the right reason, or the right method—

He can't be wrong in walking his path of a hero, even if it ends on a lonely hill of swords.

And so he walked, up and down the winding roads of Fuyuki, over the bridge and up the hill and finally ending at a building he really rather hated.

The Church on the Hill, where he learned the terrible truth of the Fifth Holy Grail War.

Why did he come here? He wasn't entirely sure, but there's something to be said about churches and the dead of night. It's a place of peace. Almost of a certain kind of interior intimacy, as well. It's in the dead of night that the suffering fly to this place of prayer and reflection, weeping their silent tears; it's in the darkness and solitude that a conflicted man will come and kneel to pray and find himself again.

The church, regardless of the proclivities and sins of the former pastor, remained a sanctuary for the lost; and Shirou was searching.

The dual oak doors creaked open as he snuck inside, letting a whisper of wind slide in behind him. The light scent of incense tickled his nose, likely left over from yesterday's Masses (held by a visiting priest in Kotomine's absence). Settling into a pew, he cast his gaze to the front of the church and grew silent.

The church itself was mostly bare, befitting the religion of the poor in the town. Besides an ancient organ, the front held only the altar, a tabernacle, and the centerpiece of any Catholic Church: a crucifix.

Shirou's eyes rested on the wooden figure, hanging from a cross.

"…that's where this path leads, doesn't it?" He said, almost a whisper. "To die alone on a hill."

To follow the ideal of saving everyone requires everything; that's partially what attracted Shirou to it in the first place. Every little bit. Nothing held back. Fully committed; some might say fully _alive_.

The sculpture remained silent. Shirou glanced down at his hands. "Is it a coincidence?" He chuckled. "To think Archer also found his end on a Hill. As will I."

 _But it's worth it_. The thought rang through his mind. _I won't regret it, even if it ends in the same place._

 _Because it's beautiful._ He raised his gaze.

 _Giving everything away to save others—_

 _I can think of no greater life to live._

Then he heard, as quiet as a whisper:

"Do you really want to give everything?"

Shirou started, jumping up from the pew; but a quick glance told him he was alone. Not even the slightest sign of another life or creature of any kind.

"Yes," he said, shifting. Even if he hadn't actually heard anything, perhaps due to his paranoia or all the unrelieved stress of the Holy Grail War, he wanted to respond.

That's who he wanted to be.

 _I'm sorry, Rin_ , he thought. _I love you. That's true, without a doubt. And I'd love to be with you, from now till the End._

 _But I can't give everything away if I give myself to you._

Shirou's heart swelled, a hidden passion awakening. _Because there are people who need saving—people suffering. People in need._

 _I want to be a hero who saves everyone, and that means I can hold nothing back. Not for my love for cooking, nor for my school, nor Fugi-nee, nor Sakura, nor even you, Rin._

 _I have no regrets; this is the only path._

"Then rejoice, Emiya Shirou," a voice spoke, low and deep like a rolling drum, echoing through the church. "Your wish will be granted."

Shirou leapt up from the pew, instinctively Tracing Kanshou and Bakuya. _That voice—!_

The voice chuckled. "You are the victor of the Holy Grail War; is it not fitting to take your prize?"

"Kirei." Shirou crouched, his eyes sweeping over the church; however, he couldn't see anyone. The voice itself seemed disembodied, not coming from any particular direction. "You're supposed to be dead!"

"Kirei is dead," the voice said. "This is merely his form. He was an important man in your life—and in your father's life."

"Kiritsugu?" Shirou frowned. "What has this to do with him?"

"Everything," the voice said, in the mocking tone of the deceased priest. "After all, he, too, won the Holy Grail. He, too, made a wish."

"I know," Shirou said. "But it betrayed him. His wish was to save the world in a way that didn't leave anyone behind, but the Holy Grail was corrupted."

"Indeed." The voice turned a tad more gleeful—and malicious. "But the Holy Grail is, ultimately, a wish granting device. His wish, even now, is still being granted."

"What?" Shirou had heard more of the Fourth Holy Grail War after his own had ended; not all the details, but mainly and especially those of its players and its ultimate result: the Fuyuki Fire.

He knew enough that Kiritsugu's wish was never granted. The Holy Grail was destroyed.

"Yes. It was destroyed, boy, and so the Grail's plans never came to fruition in this world. _But the Grail isn't limited to just this world._ "

Shirou's throat went dry.

"We still are granting Kiritsugu's wish; but now it is time to grant yours." The voice laughed, as the church rumbled. "Rejoice, boy! Your wish will be granted!"

At once, as if in a nightmare, the roof began to leak thick tendrils of a black tar-like mud, flooding the church and covering the door.

"We?! There can't be the 'we' you're referring to!" Shirou turned to sprint out the door, but hesitated at the mass of darkness gathering across the doorway. "Saber destroyed the Holy Grail! This isn't possible!"

"You cannot destroy 'all evils of the world' without destroying what caused it in the first place," the voice said, as the muck began to rise into a small flood, cornering Shirou in the center of the church. "That was the problem with Kiritsugu's wish; he did not understand the nature of the problem, nor the nature of the miracle. Arturia's holy sword is not enough. Unlimited Blade Works is not enough. The Heaven's Feel is not enough." The voice chuckled, once more, as the tide swept in towards a helpless Shirou. "Only Death is enough, as you shall soon see."

Emiya Shirou's world tilted as the black tide reached him, and his vision of the church, eerie and beautiful as it was, sank into darkness.

"Yes: you shall see, and you shall rejoice…"

And he could hear, as if far in the distance, the ominous hum of an organ and the whispers of the Holy Grail…

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

I'm back with a new story! I've been gone for a while, working on a murder mystery novel, which I finished - five times so far, haha. And I'm still not satisfied with it. So I'm taking a break to write a new book that I'm pretty passionate about. Which is this! A Fate/stay night and RWBY crossover! (I only just recently started watching RWBY and loved it; wanted to write this pretty much right away.)

I've already planned the thing out for a long while yet (and written a good amount of it), so you can be assured this won't be a one or two shot fanfic like my other (more popular) stories. Updates should be weekly (or sooner!), as I write daily; a good habit to have.

Please note this will not be a Nasuverse lore-heavy story; I see the extended Nasuverse in the same unpleasant light as I do the extended Marvel or DC Comics universe lore. I'm more interested in individuals and their stories; but Superman seems more 'super' than man at times, and the more you pull out from the simple plight of humanity and the story of normal men, the less real and empathetic it seems. Even with all his abilities, Shirou is human, through and through; its his pursuit of an ideal and the very human limits of his abilities that keeps him plausible, and thereby relate-able. Anyway, point is: there are other stories that will have more in-depth Nasuverse stuff for those of you who love it. While it can certainly be cool, it's not going to be much of an element in my story. I'll pull in Shirou's abilities, and that's probably going to be the start and end of it.

That being said, I likely won't stray far from what we've seen of him in UBW. Just taking some parts to their logical conclusion.

Besides that, I won't be saying much else about where this story is going.

Enjoy the show!


	2. Chapter One

Fire.

The fire was always with him, but not in a way others would think. It was a trauma, yes; it was something that changed his life and marked his soul, without a doubt. It was terrible.

But for Shirou, the fire held something almost sacred; for it was by the fire that he was saved. It was the fire that awakened him to things he never considered; one can really say the fire gave birth to the current Emiya Shirou as much as Emiya Kiritsugu did. One saved him, and the other gave him the opportunity to be saved.

Yet even more than that, the fire showed him a truth he never realized as a child: that people could die.

It's an obvious truth. Everyone knows it.

But until you stare at the endless abyss of Death and it reaches for you, brushing against your throat, threatening an eternal end to your life on this temporal plane—until you realize you might very well die in the next few moments and discover What Comes Next—death is a distant thing.

Emiya Shirou had walked through the fire, and Death walked with him.

 _This dream again_ , he thought, his mind fuzzy with sleep. He could almost feel the heat of the inferno, twisting about him; he could almost sense the screams and cries of those who desperately didn't want to meet their Maker—not yet. They had responsibilities to fulfill. Dreams to be uncovered. Places to be explored; desires to be satisfied. Loves to be born.

Lives to be lived.

But those lives were taken away far too early, and Shirou could do nothing. Nothing but walk. And watch.

And regret.

His arms and legs ached. The sounds continued, growing: the crackle of the flame, the splintering of wood, the sudden screech of a house collapsing in on itself—

And then someone screamed, and he realized it wasn't a dream.

His eyes shot open to the sight of plumes of smoke rising around him to a backdrop of dark storm clouds. His back shifted against something hard; his hands, slapping down beside him, felt the rough surface of stone. Pushing himself off the ground, he shifted to a crouch, his eyes sweeping his surroundings.

Residential homes circled him. A stone roadway extended from behind him down the row of homes, similar to the style of middle class Fuyuki neighborhoods he knew well; and like that part of Fuyuki, fire had engulfed everything.

There weren't any bodies he could see, but he heard the screams and the distant sound of combat. Taking a breath, the scent of blood and iron flooded him. For a moment, he closed his eyes.

He would always fear the fire, but he had a much greater fear.

Becoming a person who can't save everyone.

"Trace, on."

His eyes snapped open, as Kanshou and Bakuya flashed into being with a now practiced ease. His body felt fine; whatever had happened—whatever that damned Holy Grail had done—he appeared to be in fine shape, indecipherable from the state he left Fuyuki in.

And he _was_ sure this wasn't Fuyuki, or really Japan at all. The homes had a different style and tint to them, and the little glimpses of language he could see weren't Japanese or English. Though he did understand it.

At least the Grail did something useful for him. That, or residential signs are a universal language.

Taking a glance behind him, he saw a stone wall and a gateway arch, the wooden gate having been smashed in and hanging on half broken hinges. A forest lay on the other side, blissfully undisturbed by the fire.

 _Forward it is._

Towards the fire. Towards the nightmare of Fuyuki, all over again.

Towards those in need of saving.

Tightening his grip on the dual short swords, he leaned forward and shot off at a rapid pace.

The village seemed surprisingly calm. Though houses were burning and broken arrows littered the ground, he saw almost no bodies; sometimes, smatters of blood, and one or two fallen soldiers or militia, identified by their burnt bows.

Nor did he see many signs of the invaders. The sounds of battle, he realized, were leading farther and farther into the distance.

 _Perhaps they evacuated ahead of the battle_ , Shirou thought. _Or they're being chased…_

It hit him, as he was walking amidst the strange town that seemed almost like Fuyuki—almost like Earth—but different in small, significant details, that he really was in a different world.

The language certainly wasn't any he had heard of, and the architecture didn't ring a bell.

And, of course, there's the matter of the Holy Grail having sent him away.

His chest tightened. _I didn't even get to say goodbye_ , he thought, his mind drifting to the red-clothed, blue eyed beauty undoubtedly searching for him in a panic. He closed his eyes.

He knew the feeling of being a stranger in the world; he always felt that way after the fire. That would prove to be of little difference.

There was only one thing that Emiya Shirou could call home: the lonely hill of swords, and he carried it with him always.

He simply regretted he had to leave her behind. Not that he had much of a choice, thanks to getting transported here against his will.

Opening his eyes, he steeled his gaze and realigned his grip on the married swords. He knew what he had to do.

There may be some survivors left behind. Someone he can save.

Having been assured the main force seemed to be heading away from him, he decided to take a more thorough look into the side alleys and clear out the city, block by block. Part of him wanted to rush towards the sounds of combat, but if it was a war, he wouldn't be able to sweep in and get the two armies to stop fighting just by showing up.

And even if he did, anyone caught in the fire would die. He couldn't abandon them.

He didn't have to search long. As he neared the center of the city, he heard sounds: deep thumps; ragged breaths; muffled cries. Taking off at a sprint, he rounded a corner and spotted, in an alley between two burned buildings, two figures surrounded by—

The Holy Grail.

His eyes told a different story, but deep inside, he _knew_ ; he could feel it, instinctively: the _things_ he saw were curses. Sins. Embodiments of 'all evils of the world.'

Admitted, he couldn't sense their true nature; he simply recognized it as one would a strange scent. He 'smelled' it only twice before: first upon the Mountain as Saber destroyed the corrupted Grail, and again in the Church on the Hill that brought him here.

Whatever the monsters were, they were abhorrent. They could not be permitted to exist, and the thing before him was one of them.

It had a form similar to a wolf; sheer black fur (or skin?) with some kind of white bone or armor with blood-red streaks through it, with thick violent claws and a predatory stance.

And before it sat the prey it hunted. Shirou couldn't see much of the first person, who lay bleeding on the ground, but the other person standing in front of them was a girl not much older than him, a desperate look on her face as she faced the creature. She had no armament or gun; only a torch she kept waving at it, presumably hoping the fire would scare it off.

It didn't.

The thing reared back, opening its jaws, preparing for a lunge—

"Get back!"

The girl flinched as Shirou leapt in front of her, a red and white blur, followed by the clang of steel and claws.

"I'll lead it off!" He shoved forward, knocking the beast a step back, before thrusting Kanshou.

The beast evaded it, looping around to the right.

He mirrored it, strafing right, sparing the girl and her bleeding companion a glance. She was staring at him in shock—more precisely, at his battle with the monster.

"Are you…a huntsman?"

"Don't stay here! Leave!" The beast had set its eyes on her again and turned towards her, bracing its legs for another leap.

Shirou leapt in front of her again, parrying the creature's strikes. One of its claws grazed his right forearm, scraping his skin. He pulled his arm back with a pained hiss.

It noticed. With a growl, the beast pounced forward, aiming for his right.

However, Shirou had begun sweeping a vertical cut with his left arm an instant before the thing struck; the opening was planned. It noticed too late.

Kanshou carved through the black flesh, cleaving its claws off. The thing roared, sweeping at his head, but its time had come; Shirou slipped under the extended arm and thrust both swords into its rib cage, twisting and ripping apart its innards.

Stepping back, Shirou watched as the beast collapsed and, to his surprise, slowly disappeared, as bits of black peeled off it till nothing remained.

 _Similar to a Servant's death_ , he thought absently. The monster did not have anything signifying it as a Servant or some kind of supernatural beast to his (albeit limited) senses; it was simply strong. Brutal.

Not too unlike an actual wolf. Just bigger.

The scraping of claws against stone nearby stirred him into motion.

 _Have to move quickly if I want to save everyone. Perhaps the forest will be a safe place to send any survivors I find, like these two,_ he thought, as he twisted to check on them, making contact with the girl's brilliant blue eyes—

As a claw pierced her chest. Her eyes widened, and then grew distant, as she slumped to the ground.

Another wolf-creature stood behind her, giving him a bloody grin. Beneath it, the girl's corpse shuddered, twitching in its death throes, as her head fell on the side facing him. Lifeless eyes watching him.

 _You failed._

Shirou gave a frenzied yell and threw himself at the second beast, his heart blazing—his eyes too wide and chest too tight.

 _I won't let you—_

The beast swiped at him with a heavy-handed blow.

Shirou pushed forward, shielding one side with Kanshou and thrusting forward with Bakuya in the other. A sword proved to be a poor shield; a claw tore a small cut in his side, slipping around Kanshou, but Bakuya pierced the thing's skull.

It fell, collapsing into a cloud of black.

 _Reckless_ , a small voice whispered. _This is how you get injured. Small injuries piling up till they become much bigger…_

Another roared behind him. Shirou twisted, barely stopping its leaping attack, before twisting and rolling under its guard.

It raked at his back mid-roll, drawing two long, thick gashes down his sides, before the married swords came together across its neck, beheading it.

 _Take it slower!_ His instincts cried. _You're going too fast! Too many openings, too many wounds! You'll bleed out!_

But all he could think of were the eyes of the dead girl. Watching him.

Not just hers. He remembered their cries in Fuyuki; their pleadings for help; their burning bodies and dying gasps…

Another of the creatures burst over a nearby city wall, followed by two others. He turned and roared, a cry of wrath and desperation.

 _I_ will _save the rest!_

He threw himself forward, dashing right through the first's claws and slicing through its head, ignoring the flash of pain in his arms.

 _No one else will die—not this time!_

The second and third tried to surround him in a pincer.

He jumped and threw his swords down, each spiraling in an arc that gradually curved towards the other. They impaled themselves in the sides of the second beast.

The third had leaped at Shirou, who Traced a nameless long sword to thrust forward with. It impaled itself on it, as did its claws in Shirou's thighs.

He flung the thing away as he landed on the second, grasping the swords impaling it and twisting them through, ripping its chest asunder, while the abused swords shattered.

 _I can't fail them! I know I'm strong enough!_

But the moment he leapt from the disintegrating corpse to the ground, his knee bent more than usual on impact, and his eyesight became a touch blurrier. Dabbing a hand at his head, he frowned when he saw it covered in his own blood.

 _I know I am._

A terrible screech filled the air. Shirou felt a blast of air before glancing up, re-Tracing Kanshou and Bakuya.

Another creature was headed straight for him, suspended in the air by a wingspan the length of his old home. A massive raven, tainted by 'all evils of the world.'

The thing dipped into a dive, spiraling at him with incredible speed.

Shirou planted his feet, and with a pained breath, raised a hand towards it and closed his eyes.

He imagined the impenetrable seven-layered shield, glowing vibrantly within his own interior world: Rho Aias. He began the process of conceptualization—

And had to let down his arm, gasping.

 _I don't have the prana for it._

He had needed Rin's support to even initialize Unlimited Blade Works just a few weeks back; while his ability to use his Magic Circuits had grown well under Rin's tutelage, he was still very limited. Perhaps less so than during his fight with Archer, but the level of ability Archer displayed or that Shirou himself had during the fight with Gilgamesh were still many years down the road. Many years of training.

Glancing back up, he blinked in surprise. The creature didn't seem to be going for him, after all; the angle of descent was too steep. Lowering his gaze, following the intended path, Shirou saw—

"No!"

Someone was running.

Shirou threw himself forward. His thighs burned and, to his horror, weakened; he tripped, the acrid taste of blood filling his mouth and smoke filling his nose. He spit it out and pushed himself up, ignoring the scent he knew too well.

As he rose, he saw he wouldn't get there in time to block it. He had only moments to stop the beast, and there still stood several hundred feet between them. Closing his eyes, he breathed and began the process of conceptualization once more.

 _Even if I don't have enough prana, I'll make enough._

 _Steel is my body, and fire is my blood._

 _If it is to save them—such a price is nothing._

He had little time. He needed something strong enough to take down a supersized, bloodthirsty raven with a single shot.

He needed power, but in a weapon weak enough that he could Trace and empower it, even in his broken state.

A minor Noble Phantasm, one of many he had seen from Gilgamesh, took form in his mind, twisting itself into the form of an arrow. Slowly but firmly, he ran through the processes: its conception; its construction; its nature and form…

As he did, he felt his body weakening, collapsing—drawing the needed prana from his own self.

He is the bone of his sword, after all; and this sword-body exists to save people.

He opened his eyes to the sight of a bow he Traced in his hands and the broken Noble Phantasm as an arrow. He pulled it to its limit, aimed at the raven, and let it fly.

With a boom and a flash of light, the arrow disappeared from the bow, hitting the bird straight in its chest, echoing a mighty boom. The light blinded him for a moment as it screeched in surprise.

The creature died, blown apart by the Broken Phantasm. Shirou let out a breath as he saw its falling form begin to disintegrate.

Till he saw it fall atop the running figure, crushing them as it slowly decayed.

Behind them, he began to notice, were the running and dying forms of others. The monsters, whatever they were, had returned; and the survivors hiding in basements or shelters had no choice but to run.

 _I brought those monsters here_ , Shirou realized. _The sound of combat drew them back._

 _I've doomed them all._

Shirou fell to his knees—partly due to sheer, total exhaustion, and the rest due to the pain he felt in his heart.

 _…I couldn't save them._

 _I couldn't save the city._

 _I couldn't save these two._

 _I couldn't even save one._

His vision began to fade, and some rational part of him, hidden far behind the emotions and pain and trauma and confusion, feared it was due to shock and blood loss induced by that foolish attempt to Trace a Noble Phantasm.

His body was failing. Falling into something he wouldn't naturally awaken from without medical help, now that Saber's influence on Avalon's healing power was gone.

And those creatures saw his weakness, turning wide bloody grins towards him.

Shirou slumped to the ground, his eyes fluttering to a close.

 _…I just wanted to save them…_

* * *

"Saving one person means being unable to save another."

Kiritsugu's eyes were distant, as young Emiya Shirou looked up at him with a frown, the moon lurking behind him in the sky.

"That's what it means to be a hero, Shirou. I know; I know best of all. It's who I was."

The sky stretching out above them, glittering with a hundred stars; the quiet peace of the neighborhood; the gentle stillness of the garden; it all lent a sense of serenity to the old house. A sense of sanctity. Of importance. Sitting there, listening to Kiritsugu, Shirou carved the memory into his mind.

"To save the world…" Kiritsugu fell silent.

"I don't understand." Shirou watched his old man's face, with its scars and terribly tired look. "A hero would never leave anyone behind."

 _A hero didn't leave me behind._

"They don't want to, Shirou; of course they don't." He turned his eyes upwards, a deep darkness lurking therein. "But even saving you meant I couldn't save someone else."

 _I don't understand._

 _If I could be saved—_

 _If he could have such joy at saving me, how could it not be true for anyone else?_

Kiritsugu heaved a long breath. "I had searched for a way around that all my life. I wanted to save everyone." He gave a tired, slight smile. "I wanted to find another way."

Shirou gave him a questioning glance.

"But I never did."

They fell into silence afterwards, and Shirou thought.

He watched the fireflies dart through the night, and listened to the chirps of the cicadas and grasshoppers, and smelled the earthy scent of the garden, and felt the grass between his toes; and all the while, he remembered the teary smile of Kiritsugu saving him.

"I'll do it," he said. Even as he said it, he realized he didn't know how; but it felt right. It was right.

"I'll find a way to save everyone."

Kiritsugu gave him a surprised look; but after a moment, he laughed and said, with a soft smile: "Yeah; I'm relieved. My dream… I'll leave it to you then."

And the night fell.

* * *

A new day began.

Shirou stirred. He could feel the gentle warmth of the sun alighting on his arms and face. He lay wrapped in warmth; he could feel a cool, soft fabric beneath his fingertips.

His eyes opened to the view of a hospital room.

Whitewashed walls surrounded him with several medical devices beside his bed. Besides the steady beeps of the heartrate monitor, the room and adjacent hall were silent, and rolling hills of grass lay beyond the room's only window. It was midmorning.

"Are you awake?"

Glancing to his left, he saw a young girl sitting on a chair, smiling. His eyes still blurry, he squinted—

And shot up, his eyed widening.

 _It's her._

He knew those eyes well by now; they had stared at him as blood pooled around her body. Her _dead_ body.

 _I saw her die. Claws pierced her chest. She fell, and I—_

He could never forget: those dead, lifeless eyes staring at him, reflecting the fire that burned and burned around them.

Taking a second look at her, he finally began to notice details that had escaped him when they first met. Then, everything had the color of fire and ash; but now, under the sun's gentle light, he could see her amber eyes and silver hair, lightly flowing down to the mid of her back, accentuated by the white and gold-gilded dress she wore.

The girl was watching him with a worried look. Realizing he never answered his question and was now staring at her, he flushed and raised his hands placatingly. "Sorry; yes, I'm awake. I'm fine. But I thought I saw you in the fire, and…"

"Ah," she said, with a knowing look. She shook her head. "No. I…survived." She flashed him a smile. "You saved me."

But he recognized the way she said it—the way her eyes would dull and shoulders stiffen and attention unfocus; she had the fire with her. As he did.

As she wouldn't have, if he had saved her.

 _But..._ There was certainly irrevocable proof that the girl lived; she sat before him, alive and well. _But I saw claws pierce her chest. I saw her collapse; I saw her dead empty gaze. Flames dancing in those amber eyes…_

She caught his questioning look and gave a stiff smile. "It's part of my semblance," she said. "The body you saw stabbed and die wasn't mine. I was actually the injured girl lying on the ground behind her."

"Ah." He hadn't a clue what a semblance was, but he did remember seeing the second body. He had assumed they died from the beasts. If that was this girl, then perhaps the one he saw was an avatar of sorts, or a decoy so she could play dead and lure the creatures after her fake.

Given that this 'semblance' could presumably manifest some kind of decoy body, Shirou assumed it referred to their own brand of magic. He tabled the thought for later.

"Well, I'm glad," he said, mustering up a smile. "I didn't think I saved anyone."

She leaned forward, laying a hand on his arm. "You saved me. But don't worry. I was watching; you tried your best, didn't you? After all—

"You can't save everyone."

* * *

 **A/N: I will be doing weekly releases, and I hope to slowly increase the length of the chapters over time.** But for this first week, you'll be getting a shorter chapter.

I had told myself I wouldn't write any author notes for this story, but I keep finding things I wanted to inform readers about, haha. In this case, it's more for our readers who are also writers.

If any of you haven't already, I highly suggest Googling "Jim Butcher livejournal" and scroll down a few entries to the ones on writing. Butcher is a fantastic author; he's written many installments in the Dresden Files series, which is now a staple of urban fantasy. He has excellent advice.

For this past week, I had felt like the beginning of this chapter was *off* in some regard, and it wasn't until this morning that I realized the problem: I had introduced a conflict (Shirou going to another world) only to immediately follow it up with another conflict (the Grimm and The Fire); Shirou (in the first version) didn't have much of a reaction to what happened and we just jumped into the combat. In Butcher's terms, I skipped the sequel.

Which is bad. So I wrote one in, and it flows better now.

FYI: this story isn't a book, so I'm not going to go back and revise stuff later. It might so happen that I'll realize I messed up and part of what I wrote isn't as good as it could be; in that case, we'll just have to soldier on. Hopefully I've learned enough that I won't make such a mistake. At least, not a grave one.

Anyway, go ahead and read that stuff, fellow writers. It's very good, and even if you don't use it, it serves as a good analysis tool for why your scenes don't look as "prettyful" as you imagined them to be.

As for my fellow readers...

Enjoy. Next week: locked room murders! (Just kidding. Though part of me wishes I wasn't.)


	3. Chapter Two

It was raining.

Shirou laid in bed, an expressionless face turned towards the window, watching sheets of rain fall on hills of grass. The girl he saved—Sierra, she had called herself—had been ushered out by the nurses once they realized he was awake, letting him know a doctor would be in to see him shortly.

Yet as time passed and the clock ticked and the rain fell, Emiya Shirou's thoughts didn't change.

 _You can't save everyone._

The thought, the girl's final words (that he paid attention to), echoed in his mind and left him speechless.

Because he couldn't deny it.

 _Not yet._

He had failed to save anyone, regardless of what Sierra said, and it hurt. The memory of the fire, of the dying, burned in his mind. He heard their screams and saw their deaths, and his heart broke, shattered, fractured; they were not saved, and Shirou felt it as sure and vivid a pain as any other he'd ever felt—

"Good morning."

Shirou's eyes darted towards the door, his surprise and sudden panic calming when he saw the white robes of a doctor. He continued speaking, his voice deep and calm.

"How are you feeling?"

Shirou watched with a detached gaze as the doctor slid into a chair near his bed, a tablet of some kind in his hand.

"Better." Shirou glanced at his hands and flexed his arms; the wounds were healing well. The majority of the damage was due to gradual blood loss from superficial wounds and the weakening of his body through an excessive use of his own prana; while not at the absurd healing level he had through a Saber-empowered Avalon, his body still recovered from an overdose of prana use much quicker than any debilitating wound.

"I'm sorry we haven't spoken before this," the doctor said. "You've been unconscious for most of the week you've been here. We were worried you had fallen into a coma, but it seems your body had simply been repairing itself."

"Thank you for treating me," Shirou said, with a slight incline of his head.

"No, no," he said, waving his apology away with a small smile. "It's the least we could do. The young lady," he said, nodding towards the door Sierra had left through, "spoke highly of how you fought during the attack on Ferentael."

Shirou gave a weak smile and said nothing, assuming Ferentael to be the village he awoke in.

"Well, let me just do a quick check—"

The doctor paused, staring intently at the tablet in his hands. "Oh."

 _Oh?_ Shirou tensed. It hadn't escaped him that he was a visitor to this world; it wouldn't be at all surprising for him to have missed something that would identify him as "not belonging"—some societal custom or some identification scan. The Holy Grail may have given him some knowledge of the language, but he knew little else.

"I wasn't aware you hadn't activated your aura," the doctor said, giving Shirou a frown. "I thought you were a Huntsman in training. It seems I was mistaken."

"Aura?"

"Yes, aura; every Huntsman has a developed aura, and you don't even have the slightest whiff," he said. "Do you not realize how dangerous it is to fight Grimm without an unlocked aura to protect you? Otherwise, a single claw could cut through your skin and kill you. One blow. That's all it'd take."

 _Grimm? Those beasts, perhaps…and a protective field called aura?_ The meanings of the words weren't clear to him, but the context gave enough clues to work with.

"People were in danger," Shirou said. "They were dying."

"And you were lucky not to join them, seeing as you fought instead of evacuating with the rest of the town." He shook his head. "Look, kid: without an active aura, no one stands a chance against the Grimm. What you did was reckless."

That, Shirou could agree with in part. He had been reckless. The fights in Ferentael played through his mind again, and hindsight was perfect as always. Too fast; too risky; too much of an opening; too slow of a dodge…

His style—Archer's style—of fighting against stronger opponents, creating weaknesses for the enemy to exploit, traded risk for predictability. He knew where the opponent would strike, but he still had to counter and avoid injury. It required focus; a misstep meant you'd be struck in the very vulnerability you created. It's very nearly an all or nothing tactic.

But seeing Sierra 'die' drove him to rage: rage at the Grimm for her death; rage at the Holy Grail for presumably having a hand in all this; and most of all, rage at himself for failing to save her.

And rage is very rarely a benefit to focus.

So he fell on the 'nothing' part of an all-or-nothing style of combat.

 _If I had reigned in that emotion somehow, could I have saved more?_

He certainly could have _done_ more. An Emiya Shirou without those wounds, without having bled from his earlier mistakes, would not have struggled to project such a minor Noble Phantasm as he did.

The memory of the Holy Grail War surfaced again. Shirou grimaced. The number of times he died to a single blow or brief exchange (or would have, without Avalon and Rin's help), at times throwing himself into battle due to a surge of anger or other emotion, was much higher than he liked.

Such as getting stabbed in the heart by Lancer. Or getting stabbed in the arm by Rider. Or getting stabbed in the back by Archer. Or almost getting stabbed repeatedly by the other Archer, Gilgamesh, after Illya died. Or getting stabbed by—well, the point's obvious by now.

Taking a step back to breathe or a moment to think would've made all the difference. In fact, he could recall Archer doing that very thing before: standing back, perched on the high ground, surveying the battlefield to determine the best course of action.

 _Seems I have much to learn._

"Anyway," the doctor was saying, "you received a fairly large number of claw wounds: eight piercing wounds in your thighs, two gouges running down the length of your back, four piercing wounds in each arm, and an assortment of scrapes across your chest. Honestly, with no active aura, it's miraculous you didn't receive worse. Not to mention they don't seem as deep as similar wounds. You really lucked out."

 _Or, perhaps, more an effect of Avalon and Unlimited Blade Works on protecting and healing me._ As was the case for most things magical, Shirou didn't know all the details; most of his experience had been in the Holy Grail War. What exactly would change without Saber's presence and Rin's help had yet to be seen. _Regardless, at least my body's back to something resembling normality. Though it did take nearly a week…_

"There's just one problem."

Shirou glanced at the doctor, who gave him a level stare.

"We didn't find any personal identification on your person, nor do we have any records matching your aura signature with any of the Four Kingdoms." He scratched the back of his head, giving a slight smile. "I'm guessing you're from Ferentael, then? Or a nearby village?"

"Something like that."

"I'm surprised you've gone this long without registering for citizenship or a Vale bank account, but it's happened before. Not the first time we've gotten someone unregistered in our ER." Glancing at Shirou, who gave an affirming nod, the doctor shrugged. "Then that's alright. The only thing left is payment." He shuffled the tablet to one hand while the other fished in his pockets, eventually withdrawing a pen. Clicking it once or twice, he handed it to Shirou. "Going to need you to register with the Kingdom of Vale, since we treated you; need to have a file to store the medical records, you understand. They're still offering citizenship to refugees from the villages in the nearby forests, so you're in luck."

The doctor fiddled with the tablet before handing it to Shirou. "Now, regarding your medical bill—"

"Unfortunately, my possessions were lost in the fire." _That's technically true; we're just not talking about the same fire…_

"Ah," the doctor said. "I thought as much. My condolences. Thankfully, the cost of your treatment was rather low, so its covered by the general Grimm loss-of-property medical insurance provided to every citizen. Just sign at the bottom of the next page and mark the 'Loss of property' box."

 _I suppose some things never change, no matter what world you live in,_ Shirou thought, grimacing at the hundreds of fields he had to fill out. _With taxes and paperwork among them, apparently._

The majority of the fields weren't a problem; he could speak truthfully. Name: Shirou Emiya. Sex: Male. Occupation: None. And so on. Besides his birthdate (he asked for the current date and subtracted the years and days to find his approximate birthdate in this world; thankfully, the Grail had seen fit to let him know the calendar system through the language), he filled out the sheet mostly truthfully.

"Alright," the doctor said once Shirou handed the tablet back. "Shouldn't take more than a few hours to process everything, and then you'll be on your way."

With that, the doctor swept out of the door, leaving Shirou in silence.

 _That takes care of one problem._ At least he has a believable backstory now; the last thing he wanted was for the government to get curious and discover he didn't belong here. His abilities were for saving people, not to be studied by scientists and dissected in labs. While this world might have aura and semblances, they seemed distinct from Magic Circuits; it'd be wise to keep this secret close to his chest. Maybe just pass it off as a 'semblance,' though he still wasn't sure what that entailed.

 _Now for the obvious question._ Shirou leaned back against the soft hospital bed, closing his eyes. _What am I supposed to do?_

He had been thrown into a strange, new world, immediately getting caught up in a fire and a battle with literal monsters.

Worse, these monsters were _strong._

Sure, they were no Servants; but the warriors of this planet seemed to hold a benefit he did not: aura. From what the doctor said, it could protect them from a swipe or two from the Grimm's claws. They could tank a few hits and carry on, making the kill a bit easier, taking no damage from it.

But if they stabbed Shirou, he bled.

 _Still..._

With just a few slips in his fighting style, Shirou took heavy hits that bled him dry within minutes. While he can easily kill them, much unlike the Servants he had fought before, they can easily kill him too. All at once if he doesn't react quickly enough, or through a number of small bleeding wounds over many battles.

 _Even so..._

To even survive was considered a miracle. Several piercing wounds will bleed a lot over time, if not bandaged; had he not been brought to the hospital quickly, he would've died.

Fighting them over a long period of time without aura is very nearly a death sentence.

 _Even so—!_

If he fought, Shirou would likely die on some nameless battlefield, known by no one, saving no one, leaving his old world and old loves behind.

 _—Still, I want to save them!_

He couldn't forget: the joy he saw in Kiritsugu saving him and the beauty of his ideal. It resonated more deeply than anything else ever had: this desire to save everyone. To live a life of saving everyone.

Shirou had to chuckle. _I'm hopeless, aren't I, Rin?_

 _I just can't help it._

 _I want to save others. Even if I die. Even if it means ending up on that lonely hill once more._

 _Even if I can't save everyone, I can become someone who would._

Shoving off the covers, he stood, stretching his lightly aching body. He gazed out the window, letting a steel determination take root in his heart.

 _I have no regrets; this is the only path._

When the doctor returned, Shirou was gone.

* * *

There were three things Emiya Shirou needed to achieve his penultimate warrior state: his swordsmanship combat style, his proficiency with Projection magecraft, and the use and capacity of his Magic Circuits.

Archer took decades to fully develop, as he had to begin from scratch on each item; his Holy Grail War had set him on the right path, but it was one he had to lead himself; his unique swordplay took many years to develop, but it was _his._ Not anyone else's.

Emiya Shirou, however, had three gifts that Archer did not.

He took to Archer's combat style intuitively, learning in weeks what took his future self decades to develop from nothing. Having come from his own heart and mindset in the future, he grasped the fundamentals—and the aspects that he needed to further train in—without needing the time to create it. He had a template.

The same could be said of Archer's Projection magecraft. Years of self-developed technique came as naturally as instinct, his future self bleeding knowledge to his past self.

Finally, with Rin's assistance, Shirou leaped ahead in his knowledge, activation, and use of his own Magic Circuits; having activated Unlimited Blade Works several decades before Archer ever did against Gilgamesh, Shirou's knowledge of using his Magic Circuits to instantiate the Reality Marble was leaps and bounds beyond Archer's state at the end of his own Holy Grail War.

In short: while Shirou was not Archer, he did have a significant head start.

He simply needed to train: to further master his sword style, to train higher quality Projections, and to deepen the capacity of his now-activated Magic Circuits.

He _knew_ he could become strong: stronger than Archer, even. Strong enough to save everyone.

That's why, as night dawned on the day after he awoke in the hospital, he found himself alone in a small flower-filled clearing in the forest, Kanshou and Bakuya in hand.

A group of the bear like creatures faced him, and as the first approached him, Shirou followed the familiar dance he had come to learn. Parry a swipe; twist and roll to its flank, stabbing through its tender underbelly; leap over a stab, striking at its back; finish with dual cuts to the neck. Repeat with variations of parries, rolls, and letting his married swords take bites of their more sensitive flesh till the Grimm died.

He thought back to his first battle with such creatures with a frown, while the last in the group lumbered towards him with a growl. _I had tried the same thing, but they were faster, then; I mistimed my reaction._

 _But it's not an issue now._ He ducked under a strike, flipping his swords, before stabbing up into the Grimm's exposed neck. The thing collapsed and disintegrated, leaving him alone in the clearing. _Why were they faster?_

The more he battled them—the more Grimm he cut down—the more he adapted. They weren't much faster; not nearly as fast as Servants. They were nothing more than enhanced versions of whatever animal they seemed to be based on.

 _Perhaps it wasn't them who was faster; maybe I was slower._

The world did have a different feel to it: the density of the air, his own weight, the amount of natural prana he could respond to, and the presence of 'aura' and 'semblances.' It shouldn't be surprising that he'd need to adapt.

But there's one thing he couldn't adapt to, no matter how much he wished he could: he needed food.

To get food, he needed money.

And to get money, he needed a job.

Finding a job as a refugee was never easy, much less as one from a different world, but he had one advantage over the village refugees: he could kill the Grimm.

After asking around the hospital, they directed him to a temp employment agency. Most of the survivors (including Sierra, he noted) had little of their possessions left, and so had to make do with construction work, fast food, deliveries, and other minimum wage jobs.

But the temp agency also had a wilderness bounty board for the few former militia brave enough to venture out into the Grimm-infested areas for usually mundane tasks: retrieve the safety-deposit boxes from this bank lost to the Grimm; deliver this message to this small village, if they still exist; pick these medicinal herbs from this hilltop in the woods; take pictures of this region—sometimes featuring the Grimm.

They never had Grimm extermination missions, as those were left to Huntsmen. Naturally, they got their bounties from much nicer establishments which required certifications. Licenses. Things Shirou didn't have and couldn't have, due to his lack of schooling. Which, in turn, would require an activated aura.

The temp agency, on the other hand, paid about as well as it looked. (Hint: it looked like crap.)

 _It'd be nice to take Grimm bounties_ , he thought, giving a heavy sigh as he knelt, looking for the specific herbs he had been tasked to collect. _But I'll need to have an activated aura for that. Unless that's just what they call Magic Circuits in this world, I doubt I have that capacity._

Finding the required herbs, he broke them at the base and stuffed them into a bag on his belt. _But the doctor said I had no active aura, so it's probably distinct from Magic Circuits and prana. Maybe I'll investigate it at some point, as long as I'm not discovered._

Even without the Clock Tower overseeing him in this world (not that he ever particularly cared about them to begin with), Shirou had a healthy fear of being identified as 'something otherworldly.' If he had learned anything about humanity, it was the endless depths of the desires for knowledge and power.

Learning about a system of magic they didn't have… Shirou couldn't imagine a world where they'd just accept him and leave him alone. Especially with as much technology as this one had. As much as he could help it, he'd keep it a secret, as he'd probably be dissected in a lab otherwise.

Though if someone learned, then that's that. Nothing else to be done but grow stronger and protect himself, so he could keep saving people.

Having finished his bounty, he stretched, rolling his shoulders, before starting to make his way back to the city. _This won't be so bad; taking bounties, hunting Grimm, saving any travelers I find, growing more powerful and accustomed to fighting Grimm, and getting paid enough to survive—this should be fine for now. I need to develop all my Magic Circuits to their potential, if I'm to use Unlimited Blade Works._

Without the blessing of Alaya, Shirou would never achieve the full potential that he saw in Archer; but he didn't need that anyway. He didn't need the power to combat Servants, because there wouldn't be any Servants fighting him.

Simply mastering Unlimited Blade Works would give him all he needed to save everyone from the Grimm. Because he knew what the Grimm were; he could sense it.

'All Evils of the World.'

Its stink was on them, as vivid and repulsive and _human_ as ever.

 _If the Grail spoke the truth—if it's granting Kiritsugu's wish in this world, then these Grimm have a source somewhere. A font for the Holy Grail to spill its sins upon the world._

 _If I destroy it—_

 _I'll save everyone._

Yet as Shirou walked back to Vale, something pricked his heart, troubling him. A single thought; a question. A memory veiled in black.

 _Yes: you shall see, and you will rejoice._

And he could hear, as if far in the distance, the ominous hum of an organ and the whispers of the Holy Grail…

* * *

 **A/N:**

These updates haven't been weekly, have they? I have a lot of daily habits I'm trying to form, and right now, exercise and a stable sleep schedule are higher priority. Will report next week on whether that's been effective... Though writing daily comes right after, so hopefully I can overcome my slothfulness and become productive! Say your prayers for me. I'm capable of the deepest laziness otherwise.

I have heard/imagined some concerns, so I will address them:

 **First:** is Shirou underpowered?

No. He failed in his first fight not because of his lack of strength, but because he let go of his discipline and focus. He let Sierra's 'death' unravel him. Why? A very good question. One I intended for you to ask! So be patient. Shirou's going to be strong, but he has faults too. And this is a story about Shirou. He will grow, and he will change, as all living humans do on this Earth.

 **Second:** are Sierra and other OCs going to be a big deal?

Only as minor characters. Shirou and Ruby are the main characters here. Minor edit: by 'Ruby', I mean 'RWBY main characters'.

 **Third:** romance/plot questions?

The story's all planned out! All the way to the final scene. But I will leave you all to discover it as time goes on, including whether there will be romance or not.

 **Final note:** thank you for the reviews, including the ones with questions and concerns. I haven't changed anything yet due to them (besides these author notes), but I will keep them in mind. In the end, though, this is a story I want to tell: one about a man who simply wants to save people, but he doesn't know how, especially after being cast into a different world for some purpose unknown to him.

That story won't change, so I sincerely hope you'll stop now if that's not a story you want to read. If it does interest you, then I sincerely hope it's a beautiful story I can deliver.

Until next time.


	4. Chapter Three

Imagine you faced all evils of the world. All the darkness; all the terrors; all the wounds; all the sin.

Everything that destroys human happiness stands before you, and you—perhaps you alone—have the ability to kill it.

All you must do is pick up the sword.

It lays before you, glittering gold, shining with a divine light: a holy sword for a holy purpose.

But you can't pick it up.

You strain; your muscles ache, your body weeps, your spirit snaps, your patience dries, and yet _still—_

You cannot pick up the sword.

People die before you, slaughtered by the thing you swore to slay; armies march and nations fall and innocents die. But you can do nothing.

Nothing but train, hoping one day to grasp that holy sword.

Such was the heart of Emiya Shirou in the weeks following his arrival in Vale.

Unlimited Blade Works held all the power he needed to destroy the Grimm and what he suspected was their dark heart. The world of swords, centered round that lonely hill, was always with him, but he could never grasp it.

He didn't have enough mana, to put it simply.

His sword skills had drawn close to his future self's level, in those days of exposure during the Fifth Holy Grail War; but the level of development of his Magic Circuits had not undergone the decades of training and strengthening that Archer's had. Nor did he have the backing of a contract with Alaya.

If he wished to unlock his true potential, he needed _more_. As he had when Rin lent him her crest during the final fight with Gilgamesh—a source of mana which ran out by the end.

So as he walked and talked, doing simple honest work, the thought never left his mind, always lurking in the shadows:

Emiya Shirou needed more power, if he was going to save anyone.

But the power which would come through training alone would take a very long time indeed…

#

There was a murder.

Whispers raced through the taverns, as such vague but morbidly interesting gossip tends to do, till it reached Shirou's ears one late night in early summer.

He had just entered a pub for a quick drink, having finished a few courier runs through the forest, killing any Grimm he found, when the news plopped before him in the form of Sierra, the girl he 'saved'.

It was a quick conversation, all things considered, beginning with Shirou jumping right to the point.

"There've been murders."

"Yes," Sierra said, "the most recent being near a highway in the Emerald Forest." Her face turned dark. "A Beacon student, this time."

Beacon Academy. Shirou had heard the name when he researched Huntsmen training and certification. A prestigious school; the students would have to excel at battle to even enter as a first year.

Which meant the student likely didn't die to Grimm. Not on a well traveled highway to Beacon.

"Murdering a student? More so one hunting Grimm… What motivation would they have? Aren't Grimm the common enemy of everyone?"

"You'd think so, right?" But Sierra tilted her head, frowning. "I've also heard other troubling news recently. Dust shipments being robbed. Terrorism on the rise. Grimm attacking more frequently."

"All starting within the past few weeks?"

"Yes. To be more specific, starting from the attack on Ferentael. Where I met you." She said, giving him a genuine smile. But Shirou wasn't paying attention.

 _Beginning when I arrived_ , he thought, his heart chilling. _This isn't a coincidence. The Holy Grail did something else when it sent me here. The Grimm were already here, to be sure; but something happened. I sense it's touch-its curses-in every Grimm I see._

 _And I still don't know why I felt so weak when I first fought them._

 _Something's not adding up._

"Shirou?"

"Hmm?" He blinked, glancing at Sierra, who had a concerned look as she bent towards him.

"You're not thinking of doing anything rash, are you? There's a killer on the loose. And if they can kill a Beacon student—"

"Don't worry," he said, smiling. "I'll be careful."

Judging by the way she bit her lip as she watched him, she didn't believe him. After a pause, a light seemed to go off in her head, as she suddenly clapped her hands together with a smile. "I know! Let me hire you for a job!"

"Huh?"

"I need an escort to Beacon! There's someone I want to meet there, but the road heads through the Emerald Forest, where Grimm might be lurking. And as I don't know or trust anyone local besides you..." She beamed at him, evidently pleased with her plan.

Shirou gave a sigh. "Certainly, I can help protect you, but all the way to Beacon—"

"I can help you meet some instructors there, you know." She gave him an inquisitive look. "If you want to become a Huntsman."

At the mention of instruction, he paused. There was much he still didn't know of this world, especially regarding whether he had aura. He had tried to unlock it himself, but nothing happened. Not even a stir of his magic circuits.

An instructor could help him learn more about aura. If it mattered so much for Huntsmen, perhaps a secret lay there regarding a way for Shirou to increase his own mana reserves. Reading about it in a book is much different from speaking with a living user of aura to hunt Grimm.

"Sure," he said. A smile lit Sierra's face, leading Shirou to smile in return. "I'll keep you safe."

"Then we leave tomorrow?"

They shook on it. "Tomorrow."

She turned to leave, her silver hair swaying; but she stopped at the door. "I just had a funny thought, Shirou; you never get excited when we talk about anything besides murder and robberies and people needing help. It's like you're attracted to that sort of stuff, huh?" She laughed. "Attracted to despair and suffering."

She said so in a joking manner, but a thought lingered in Shirou's mind. Attracted to suffering and despair, indeed—

Just like the Grimm.

Just like Kotomine Kirei.

Just like the Holy Grail...

#

Shirou rose bright and early the next morning, except it wasn't bright at all. Storm clouds hung over the horizon, their color a damp grey, the faint echo of thunder promising a darker day than most.

He met with Sierra and embarked down the path snaking through the woods on the way to Beacon.

Overall, it wasn't supposed to be a long trip; and even if it were, Shirou was sociable enough with Sierra that it would pass quickly with their idle chatter. Even if he wasn't, she would make up for it; quick to laugh, a pleasant face with a sunny smile, silver hair with striking amber eyes—it would be hard to dislike speaking with her. She had a charm of her own.

Hours passed with peaceful chatter, the forest around them filled with the chitters of woodland creatures, till they reached a point in the road about an hour away from Beacon. Close to the area where the Beacon student disappeared and wound up dead.

They heard a noise horribly out of place around a bend in the road ahead.

A long and low creak, it almost sounded like. A whisper.

Sierra stiffened and Shirou paused for a moment, holding a hand back to keep her behind him, and edged forward, his hands extended, ready to grasp projected versions of Kanshou and Bakuya if he called them.

But when he rounded the bend, he saw nothing. An empty road. Furthermore—

The woods had fallen silent.

Silence has always had the special quality of being either too empty or too full: a silence pregnant with meaning or a silence empty of meaning; a silence which speaks louder than words, or a silence merely an absence of words.

A silence of a lack of a presence—or a silence of something watching you.

Shirou had the feeling he and Sierra were not alone.

"Shirou?" Sierra whispered, her voice taut with anxiety; "is everything alright?"

"It's nothing," he said, with a pause; "—nothing at all."

With a cautious, slow gait, Shirou advanced around the bend and down the forest road, Sierra close behind.

Only when they approached the heart of the forest did Shirou stop, and only then to shiver; for the forest's heart had about it the air of a place both too dangerous to be in and too important not to be. The shadows whispered and swayed, as if possessed by dark spirits; but they were certainly wicked spirits he had to face. The clouds above had long since turned a dark grey, shadowing the threatening and deadly mood of the forest; and yet the darkness present, Shirou felt, would be little compared to the darkness which would come to be, if he did not seek to stop it.

Something was present, here in the darkness. Something terrible and cloaked in shadows; but also something important to him. To his destiny.

To his fate.

He could hear, almost like a whisper, a tune—or, perhaps, not a sound at all, but a calling, a pull, a draw of his heart; but one that sounded like a singular, faraway chime in a melody so ancient he couldn't recognize—coming from something he could glimpse, not far in the distance.

A clearing in the middle of the woods.

When he started veering away from the path, Sierra whispered, in a panicked tone: "Shirou? Why we are leaving the road? Shirou!"

"There's…" Shirou paused. Rationally speaking, they were in a bad position. Night was near, and they were not far from Beacon, but there was no doubt of what they felt: a blanket of stillness over a forest full of terrors. The calm before the storm.

Something terrible was coming.

Steeling his resolve, he glanced back at the girl.

"We have to fight."

She shivered, and Shirou winced. This was the last thing he wished; to frighten and endanger. He only wanted to protect her. To save her.

But it couldn't be helped, so to speak. Leaving her alone would be as good as killing her, and as much as his reason considered moving past this clearing—running for the nearest city—his intuition, his heart, called him to it.

And whatever lay there was waiting for him.

Simply running past it may spare her from immediate danger—or it might cause the thing to chase after them, which could endanger more lives.

Or, perhaps—

The thing itself needed saving.

Either way, his path was clear.

"Alright," she said with a whisper. Shirou nodded, giving her a slight smile and reassuring pat on the shoulder, before moving off the road towards the clearing.

Breaking through the slight underbrush, they emerged in the clearing: a simple circle of grass undisturbed.

Someone was waiting.

The form was a shadow, humanoid and familiar, but unfocused. It stood with a haughty smile and bloodied hands, and only after it began to move towards Shirou did he recognize it.

"Kotomine," he said, his eyes narrowing.

The shadow figure laughed, the sound as mocking as ever. "Rejoice, boy. Your wish to see me again has been granted."

"I never wished that!"

"Don't lie," he said; "lying does not become a hero of Justice. In your heart of hearts, Emiya Shirou: you like me." He smirked. "But such a thing is irrelevant. I didn't call you here to chat."

"Then for what?"

"To fight." And with those words, the shadow Kirei leapt towards Shirou, bloodied hands extended.

With a shout, Shirou's hands blazed with blue lightning; and Kanshou and Bakuya flew up to meet Kirei, their blades clashing against his hands with shrieks of steel.

"Do you believe you can best me?"

His hands held against the steel for a moment before withdrawing and whipping out again, fast and rapid like snakes. This time, they converged on Kanshou swinging upwards and struck it hard enough to shatter the projected blade. Shirou slid back, blinking at his hand with surprise—abruptly covered in blood. Only after a moment did he realize it wasn't his own.

 _Such power!_

"Wait—that blood… Were you the murderer in the recent killings?!"

The fake priest didn't respond, sprinting towards Shirou again. With another projection filling the place of the past, the twin blades swept to meet him, only for both to be shattered.

"Hmph," said Kirei. "You do not have enough, it seems. You lack power behind your swords."

"Nonsense!"

The priest only smiled. "Power is not a thing gained easily, boy. It's no fault of yours; you simply don't have enough. Curse your father for letting none of his magic slip into your hands before he died."

They clashed again, fake steel clashing against hands masquerading as steel. A fake hero against a fake priest.

"Have you ever wondered," murmured the priest, his eyelids heavy, his gaze intense, right in front of Shirou's face, "at the power you would have had from the Grail?"

Shirou snarled, pushing forward, knocking the priest back a step. "There was no power to be had. That Grail—there was nothing left but curses."

"And are not curses power?" Laughed the priest, sliding by Shirou's slashes with a simple grace. Almost like a dance, effortlessly dodging every strike. "Kiritsugu knew that best of all. Why else would he center his life around them? A life spent fighting the curses of Man, sacrificing everything to attain his ideal world, free of this power which he had no other way to defeat."

Shirou slowed to take a breath, keeping a grip on his swords through sweaty hands.

 _Am I this tired already?_

"You lie."

With a sudden burst, Kirei's shadowed form rushed forward, hands like twin rapiers, thrusting towards his neck and abdomen. Shirou lifted a hand, focusing on the impenetrable shield once more, Rho Aias—

Only the first pedal appeared, shattered once more by the fake priest. Shirou stepped back, gasping.

 _Why do I have so little mana? Why now?! I've been able to do so much more, but ever since that disastrous fight at Ferentael—_

"I do not lie, Emiya Shirou," said the priest, his mocking laugh highlighting the deep tones of his voice. "You were reforged in the Fuyuki Fire because of curses. You sought to be a hero of justice because of curses. You even found your wish, only possible due to the existence of curses, only born because of Kiritsugu's experience of curses. Everything you are and everything you want to become begins and ends with All Evils of the World."

Shirou knew he was in a bad position. For some reason unknown to him, he was weak; weaker than he ought to be. Weak as he was when he first arrived in this world. He was tired; empty of mana; barely hanging on, physically.

But he couldn't let that insult stand.

"Kiritsugu didn't save me because of curses." The words empowered him, rekindling a fire ever burning in the depths of his heart. "Kiritsugu wasn't happy because of the curses. Kiritsugu didn't choose his ideal because of the curses! He chose them because of something beautiful—something he wanted to protect! Something he wanted to save!"

If there were a single moment at the heart of Unlimited Blade Works, it would be that moment: the tearful, heartfelt smile of Kiritsugu upon saving Emiya Shirou.

"And yet," said the priest, "he could only save you because of the power he gained fighting curses; and you could only be saved because all evils of the world caused the Fuyuki Fire to begin with."

"Saving people isn't wrong."

"But you can't save anyone without the power to do so." The priest laughed. "After all—

"Could I not kill you this instant?"

The priest rushed forward with a relentless assault. Shirou threw himself into the defense, passing the point where he had nothing, drawing on his own body to fuel his most desperate defense.

Swords spawned, only to be immediately lost; a barrage of punches yielded a shower of shattered projected steel. Shirou's defense slowed, and his heart began to sink.

"Shirou."

A voice behind him. With a slowly registering shock, he recalled that he had someone else there: Sierra. The one he was escorting. Some part of his mind thought on how absurd it was that only now she chose to speak or react, but the thought was soon lost in the frenzy.

"You can't win this as you are," she said, her voice soft. "The priest is right; you're holding yourself back."

"It's not holding yourself back to reject the curses of Anra Mainiiu!" Shirou cried out, fighting against the tide of force from Kirei's attacks. "What power is there in a corrupted Grail? Who can such a thing save?!"

"It's not the Grail I was speaking about," she said. "It's the fact you never accept what is necessary."

The priest began to laugh.

Sierra's voice, like silk, continued to speak as if she was singing. "You cannot save everyone, Emiya Shirou. Salvation requires sacrifice; and from sacrifice comes power."

"What do you mean?!"

"She means the same thing Kiritsugu did," Kirei said. "He did whatever it took to save the world."

With a final barrage, the final of his swords shattered, and Shirou fell back. The priest stepped forward, looming over him.

"You do not have that same resolve."

"To destroy the darkness, so the innocent may live," Sierra said in so lyrical a manner as to be really singing. "To defeat all evils of the world to save the world. You want to save everyone; but some of those who you want to save are the very evils which mean others need saving. If you really want to save the world, you have to be ready to kill those who oppress it."

As the girl's words fell on his ears and the priest's shadow moved to pierce his heart, Shirou thought back to Kiritsugu. To the ideal he wanted.

Everyone should be saved. That was the beautiful ideal whose beauty pierced his heart and set it aflame. A love for everyone. A longing for the happiness of everyone.

But he thought also of Archer: his future self, jaded by his own ideal, which he never achieved. No matter how much blood he shed.

He closed his eyes, and made a choice.

—if he died now, he would have gained nothing over Archer's state.

No one would be saved.

So even if it meant some lives couldn't be saved—even if it meant he risked a future where he became Archer—he had to steel his heart to do what must be done.

Those who oppose human happiness should be forced to stop.

That, at least, was something he could agree with, in absence of a better answer. Such was the way he had already been acting in the Holy Grail War; but he did not wish to take any life.

Yet if Archer is any indication, such was not a future he could sustain.

Shirou opened his eyes and looked at the shadow Kirei.

 _I do like him,_ he realized, after a shocked moment. _I hated him because I liked him. He was so much like me—a man living a fake heroic life, whether that of a fake hero or a fake priest, but with a broken reason. Without understanding the reason._

 _But he's threatening my life, and likely took the lives of others._

 _Therefore, there's only one answer left._

With a deep breath, Shirou drew all the energy he had left and forced himself off the ground, his hands converging on the forming image of a Noble Phantasm.

"I will kill you, Kotomine Kirei."

The priest's eyes seemed to light aflame, and a smile spread over his face.

" _Finally_."

And the true fight began.

It was as if a switch had been flicked; Shirou was no longer tired, not nearly as much. Power seemed to soak into his veins, slowly but steadily feeding his projections.

He felt _alive_. As he did when he fought with Rin's magic crest implanted on his arm when fighting Gilgamesh.

At the same time, the shadows stripped away from Kotomine, revealing his full, natural figure.

When Kirei leaped for him again, Shirou lifted a hand and closed his eyes, recalling the great impenetrable shield, and with a shout:

"Rho Aias!"

The shield unfurled in its full glory before him, blocking the strikes which had the priest's full strength behind them. In an instant after, the shield was down, and Shirou clove forward with strikes from Kanshou and Bakuya, the edges sharp and structure firm. Kirei's counter strikes failed to shatter, or even shake, the swords in their full glory.

The close combat battle rose to a hum, the constant thrash of swords against hands a symphony of violence; but this time, Shirou had the advantage. He landed a cut on Kirei's arm, who flinched back, a red hissing line burning in the now moonlit night.

When the priest leaped back, Shirou took the advantage: letting the married swords fade into motes of light, he projected Archer's bow and followed his future self's inclination.

"You're not getting away to hurt anyone else," he said, closing his eyes, imagining the Rainbow Sword Caladbolg, projecting a weapon of such power as to render mountains, but twisted into a second form: a deadly arrow.

And since the arrow would be destroyed, it was a Broken Phantasm: a weapon against which there is no defense.

With a boom and flash of light, he fired.

The moment seemed to slow in time: Kirei mid-air, the arrow pulsing with an otherworldly power, and the impact which sent a wave of force whipping through the treetops and washing over Shirou, nearly knocking him over.

The shot took what power he had left out of him. Barely keeping himself aright, his eyes swept the battlefield.

Kirei was gone; and for lack of a body, Shirou wondered whether he really was dead.

But, at any rate, Shirou had won.

He collapsed on the ground. He heard the light footfalls of Sierra approach him, before lifting him up with a breath and turning his face to meet her eyes and gentle smile.

"You did well," she said, her voice a whisper. "You won. And you saved me again." She blushed lightly. "But now we need to get back to a city. Don't worry; I heard some caravan nearby on the road. They'll help us, I'm sure. I can get us the rest of the way. Go to sleep, for now."

Shirou could only smile, before sleep took him over, a pleasant darkness to let him rest, the sight of Sierra helping him back to the road giving him a measure of peace.

But for a moment, it seemed like her eyes weren't amber, but red; and her hair not silver, but white.

#

 **A/N: I'm back. God willing, I'll write more often.**

 **Here is a link to the 'ancient melody' I mentioned this story (on a music sharing site called instaudio; you can also just Google it and search for "Ancient Melody" on the instaudio home page search bar to find it if you prefer not to try the link):**

instaud (insert dot here) io (insert / here) 2vjm

 **Enjoy it if you'd like.**

 **Short note: apologies for likely excess focus on Shirou's ideals and the internal struggle. In a perfect world, I would have better pacing.**

 **This is not a perfect world.**

 **I thought this chapter was more than 4k words; I was mistaken. Most unfortunate. We will see if that can be improved next chapter.**

 **Till next time.**


End file.
